you've got me seeing through different eyes
by missphryne
Summary: Miss Fisher, wrapped in a fine silk robe not unlike the one she occasionally favoured during his late visits in her parlour, sat curled into an armchair. She was looking at him with plain watchful eyes, her face devoid of makeup and her hair mussed with sleep. In her hand she held a piece of buttered toast -the source of the strange sound- and she chewed idly.


Jack woke with his face buried in the softest pillow he'd ever felt. The entire bed was heavenly, really, and a far far cry from the slightly lumpy mattress he had at home, covered in scratchy sheets that could not compare with the silk he lay on now. He frowned, his eyes still shut, half of him trying to enjoy the sensations, the luxury, the other half trying to determine where in the world he was and how he had come to be there.

But his mind was blank of possibilities, and Jack had no choice but to look around.

He opened his eyes to see the room he was in was very well lit, a large window covered with thin privacy curtains taking up considerable space on the wall adjacent to him. Expensive thicker curtains designed to cut the light out were drawn back by lush ropes, and Jack stared at them wondering how many months he would have to work to buy such extravagant velvet.

He did not recognise the room. It seemed large and peculiarly fancy, and he rolled carefully onto his back to see a high ceiling, also decorated lavishly. A crystal chandelier hung above him. A chandelier, in the bedroom! Where on Earth was he?!

A sound to his left made him start, and Jack looked over to see a sight he could not believe.

Miss Fisher, wrapped in a fine silk robe not unlike the one she occasionally favoured during his late visits in her parlour, sat curled into an armchair. She was looking at him with plain watchful eyes, her face devoid of makeup and her hair mussed with sleep. In her hand she held a piece of buttered toast -the source of the strange sound- and she chewed idly.

"Miss Fisher?" He muttered, his voice dry and low from sleep.

She did not respond, but Jack sat himself up on his elbows, suddenly aware he was shirtless under the sheets. This new angle gave him more of a view of the room. A claw foot bath stood in the corner, full near to the brim with water that had had liberal amounts of scented oils added to it.

Next to the bath was an arm chair much like the one Miss Fisher sat in. In this one however was a pile of somewhat neatly folded clothes. Miss Fisher's clothes, he realised with a gasp, her folded camisole and tap pants displayed shamelessly on the top of the pile.

She must be sitting there naked under her robe!

He blushed at the thought and looked sharply away from both her and the chair of her clothes to consider the rest of the room. There was a vanity table and seat in the opposite corner, and a large fireplace decorated with vases of flowers and a fine statuette. But this was clearly not Phryne's house. He was not in her boudoir -and a small part of Jack's mind sighed in relief, the same part that was desperately trying to recall how he'd got here. Wherever here was.

"Where are we?" he asked finally.

"The Windsor."

Jack's frown increased. "Why?"

Phryne raised her eyebrows, "You don't remember?"

He could not remember a thing. Not since his dinner last night, which had definitely taken place in his on home. He'd cooked himself a few sausages and mashed potato and eaten it alone at his kitchen table. Then the phone had rung and he'd stood to answer it...

It had been Miss Fisher, but he couldn't remember, what had she wanted?

Surely the answer wasn't to invite him to the Windsor to seduce him.

"No... What happened?"

"You were hit on the head by those damn thugs." She said, "You came over all wobbly, I almost had to drag you here."

"Thugs?"

She frowned at him, "You really don't remember? I called you Jack, with a lead on Marcia Lowe's kidnapping and we met in the alley where she was taken." she explained, "But there were a few drunk men about, and they began to... cause trouble."

"Trouble?" Jack asked, "Do you think they were the kidnappers?"

Phryne gave an unladylike snort, "Gods no, Jack. They were drunk, and I was a beautiful woman leading a man into a supposedly deserted alleyway at eleven o'clock at night. They drew certain conclusions."

Jack felt a small blossom of anger blooming in his chest. How dare they think Phryne a lady of the night, and he her punter. How dare they proposition her, as he was sure they must have done from the tight tone of her voice. He hoped they payed.

"So what happened?"

"You tried to warn them away, but they got cocky and punched you. Your head hit the wall when you stumbled, and they made to grab at me. Luckily I had my pistol, so they ran and I got you back on your feet and brought you here."

"You couldn't have taken me home?"

"I wanted to, but you wouldn't let me. So I brought us here." She punctuated this by placing the last bite of her toast into her mouth. The soft crunch had Jack's stomach rumbling loudly.

He sat up properly in the bed, leaning back into the many pillows against the headboard and trying to ignore the flicker of Miss Fisher's eyes over his torso. Where were his clothes, he wondered. And why on Earth had he taken off his vest if he had shared the bed with Miss Fisher, as it seemed likely he had?

"Are you hungry?" Phryne asked, "I rang for my breakfast after my bath but you were still sound asleep so I didn't order you anything."

"Yes," Jack began, "I am rather hungry- your bath?" He gaped at her.

"Yes; I've left the water in incase you want it."

Jack stared at her. She had bathed with him in the room, capable of waking any moment and seeing her. Even now he knew her to be bare under her robe, the pile of her clothes taunting him from their armchair. A familiar stirring below his abdomen fought to be noticed and Jack willed it back, his eyes shutting tight for a moment as Phryne watched him, her amusement hidden behind a mask of blank curiosity.

"What would you like for breakfast Jack?"

"Everything." Jack said. It wasn't too often he had the freedom of not making his own breakfast, and he'd like to take advantage of the opportunity.

Phryne smiled and suddenly stood from the armchair, her robe flapping around her knees dangerously. She exited the room and Jack heard her pick up the phone, ringing down to order his meal.

His eyes found the bath again. The idea was rather tempting. His own home had a rather small tub, and he never found the time to fill it for a soak, instead he found himself using the shower integrated into the wall above it. But he couldn't share bathwater that Phryne has bathed in. Not knowingly. He'd never shake the image of her naked form being touched by the water that then touched him the entire time he sat there. Besides, he could smell the bath from here. If he sat in it for twenty minutes he would smell like her bath oils for the rest of the day as well. That would be a new kind of torture.

He sighed, raking his hands through his hair and then back down over his face.

With a sudden resolve to just get dressed, enjoy his breakfast and go, Jack pushed back the covers from his legs forcefully then swung his feet over the bed's edge and stood up. He was just walking around the bed looking for a pile of his own clothes when Phryne stepped back into the room, one hand holding the top half of her robe together.

"I've made the order," she said as she walked, not paying attention as she wound around the furniture back toward her armchair, "it should be brought up- Oh, you're up."

Jack swallowed, only just stopping himself from looking down at his body, or from covering himself with his hands.

"Yes." He said thickly.

Thin cotton boxer shorts were the only thing covering his modesty. He had never in all his adult life been this naked in front of a woman that was not his wife- former wife.

Phryne kept her eyes rather firmly on his. She had to behave herself, she thought. Jack was still confused, feeling out of place and vulnerable, this was not the time to let her fancies get the better of her. But her resolve was weakening. Memories of the night before not too far from her mind, the taste of his mouth still on her lips.

She bit her lip, chewing at it anxiously without realising. If Jack couldn't remember the alleyway, or coming to the hotel, he definitley didn't remember the rest.

"Phryne-"

"Do you really not remember anything, Jack?" She cut across him, suddenly and urgently, her expression now uncertain. She looked almost nervous. That did not bode well.

Jack frowned at her curiously, then sighed and asked simply, "What happened Phryne? Did we- Did we..." He couldn't bring himself to say it. To ask a lady to her face if they'd lain together, it wasn't nice.

"We didn't sleep together." Phryne answered him anyway.

"But you're naked."

"I had a bath." She pointed out, gesturing toward it, still full in the corner of the room.

"With me in the room."

Phryne had to pause at this, but eventually she nodded.

"Phryne..."

"Oh fine Jack. I'll tell you what happened." Phryne exclaimed, "I brought you back here and tended to your head, but you were in pain. So I called for some medication, and you took it happily, and then you accepted my offer for a drink and we sat in bed and talked. When i thought it was getting late I tried to get you to sleep but you insisted on getting undressed first, and then you kissed me."

Jack gaped at her.

"You kissed me, and you began to... I so very nearly gave into you Jack. But you were concussed and tipsy and I knew you wouldn't normally be so bold, but then you-" she stopped, cutting herself off and looking away.

"Then I what?"

"And then you told me you're in love with me. That you have been in love with me ever since that day in Cafe Replique, so I let you undress me, and hold me, and we fell asleep."

He didn't know what to say.

It was true of course. He was in love with her, had been all this time, just as she said. But he could not believe he had told her, that he had kissed her and held her and stripped her of her clothes and _told her_ of his love. This feeling he'd been keeping locked up in his chest for almost a year now.

"Phryne," he murmured, his voice catching nervously in his throat.

"Yes Jack?"

"What did, what did you say? When I told you I loved you?"

"The truth," Phryne murmured, taking a few slow steps forward, "That I love you too."

He stared at her. Her face bare of make up and so open to his gaze, looking up at him hopefully from beneath her lashes.

"I hope you haven't changed you mind." She added nervously when he didn't say anything.

"No!" He jumped in, "No of course not."

She smiled.

"Phryne. I, may I kiss you?"

She smiled wider, "I knew you wouldn't be as bold when you fully conscious." And then she nodded and they both stepped closer, closing the distance between them and meeting halfway in a soft, rather chaste, kiss.

"Mmm," Phryne hummed as they parted, but her hands had found their way to the back of his neck, and she held him close. He could see freckles splattered across her nose -freckles!- and feel her breath brush his face. "Don't worry though, Jack. I believe I can be bold enough for the both of us."


End file.
